


Everything’s Better With Bacon

by LadyMyfanwy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-13 16:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMyfanwy/pseuds/LadyMyfanwy
Summary: What started with a chance encounter ends with a dream coming true.





	1. Chapter 1

Everything’s Better With Bacon 

Chapter One

“Oh! And get this!” Gwen switched her mobile from one ear to the other. “You remember I told you that my friend, Carys… yeah, from school… she’s… no, that’s Sarah, Carys lives in Splott… I know! Can you imagine? ‘Hi, I’m Carys and I live in Splott!’ How embarrassing is that?!” Gwen laughed and not in a nice way. “Anyway, remember I told you she’s getting married in a few months?”

There was a long impatient pause while the person on the other end of the line talked and Gwen rolled her eyes and tapped her toe as she pretended to listen, and then finally it was Gwen’s turn again.

“Yeah, no, hers is in early April, mine is end of July. I figure that everyone will have forgotten about hers by the time my wedding takes place. Mine is going to be the most perfect wedding ever or heads will roll, I promise you!”

Another long pause and then Gwen laughed again, this time even more unpleasantly.

“Oh, my God, get this! She chose this horrible shade of pukey orangey-peach and a sort of glow-in-the-dark lime green for her colours; I mean, really! Yeah… Disgusting, right? Vomit city! But what can you expect! How much taste can someone from Splott possibly have?” 

Jack walked alongside Gwen, only half-listening to the conversation. His mind was drifting as he plotted out the characters for his next mystery novel. 

‘I think America this time… San Francisco… no! Seattle would be perfect,’ he mused. ‘It’ll be about smugglers and Canada’s just a short boat ride along the coast. Maybe Vancouver or Victoria Island.’ ‘There must be some small deserted islands around there…’ He snapped his fingers. ‘John Hart would know! He kayaks around there all the time. I’ll call him when I get home.’

“Well, anyway, she called me last night, telling me she had great news and you are never going to believe what she said!”

‘What can they be smuggling… drugs? No,’ Jack shook his head. ‘Everyone’s doing drugs nowadays and people too.’ His face took on a look of true distress. ‘Human trafficking is too raw right now.’ 

Just the week before, every mass media source had been overflowing with reports about eighteen Chinese immigrants whose bodies had been discovered in a shipping container on a beach in the American state of Oregon. Investigators had concluded that the padlocked container had washed overboard from a freighter during a massive storm at sea, leaving the people inside to drown. Just thinking about how the victims had suffered made Jack sick to his stomach all over again.

“According to Carys, last night Branwen… you remember her from school? Slept-with-half-the-rugby-team-Branwen? Remember? She married some poor sucker from Swansea last year. Anyway, she called everyone over for dinner cos she had some big announcement to make.” Gwen paused in front of a shop window, partly to look at the dress on display but mostly to look at her reflection in the glass. “Carys called me first thing this morning with the news…” Gwen fluffed her fingers through her hair and then tugged her sweater even lower in the front. 

‘I know!’ Inspiration struck and Jack grinned. ‘Money! Money laundering!’ His head began spinning with plot twists and story lines. ‘No, wait, what about counterfeiters!’ 

Gwen resumed walking and talking. “I told her in no uncertain terms…” She paused again, this time to stare at a pair of shoes on display in another shop window. “I said, I don’t care a furry rat’s fart that she’s your big sister and that she’s pregnant, I said you cannot have a fat matron of honour! It would be disgusting!” She gave an overly-dramatic shudder. “I mean, can you just imagine how gross it’ll look when Branwen comes waddling down the aisle? Can you even imagine those wedding pictures? All anyone is ever going to see is how fat Branwen was and how swollen her ankles were! Nobody will be looking at the bride or at the altar or at the flowers, not in those pictures. It’ll be nothing but great big, fat, knocked-up Branwen in every single one!”

‘Now, I need a setting,’ Jack cast his eyes around the myriad shops and restaurants that lined the street around them. ‘What would be the perf…’ 

“OW!” Jack yelped and rubbed the back of his head. “What was that for?!”

“Door,” Gwen glared at him. “Open the door, you twpsyn!” As Jack dutifully reached for the door handle, she returned to her mean-spirited conversation. “I’m telling you right now, I’m putting you all on a strict diet; I will not have fat bridesmaids at my wedding! I wonder if Cardiff has one of those bridal boot camps I can send you all to, just to be on the safe side.”

Jack pulled the door open and then hastily stepped aside before Gwen could shoulder him out of her way; he’d learned that lesson long ago. As he followed her into the shop, the most amazing smells filled his nostrils and he looked around in surprise and then a big smile lit up his face as he realised where he was. ‘A bakery! I’ll set it in a bakery. They do a lot of business, probably most of it in cash since it’s small purchases.’ He realised that his mouth was watering from the aroma, and he hurried over to gaze longingly into a glass-fronted display case filled with plates and trays of delectable looking pastries. ‘I want one of everything!’

“Look, I’m at the bakery now.” Gwen walked up to the counter and rang the service bell. “Yeah, gonna have a tasting.” When no one answered the bell she slapped her hand down on it several times, each more aggressive than the last. “Oh, for pity’s sake, there’s no counter help! How can they expect to…?”

“May I help you?” A young man stepped up to the counter and not-so-subtly slid the bell away from Gwen. 

“It’s about time!” Gwen exclaimed, ending her phone call without saying good-bye. “What a crappy way to run a business! I should not have to call for you; you should have been standing here waiting for me before I entered!”

The man gaped at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“As well you should.” Gwen’s tone was haughty. “I’m here for a cake testing.” She gestured to a small table near the window. “You can serve me there.”

“This is a serve yourse…” The man’s words trailed off as Gwen ignored him, spinning on her heel and walking away, leaving him standing there blinking, trying to figure out what had just happened. Movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn and he noticed Jack for the first time. “I’m sorry about… how can I help you?” he asked, moving behind the display case.

He straightened up and for a few seconds all Jack could do was stare into the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen but then he shook himself. “Coffee, large, please, and can I get that cheese Danish right there,” he pointed, “and a banana nut muffin.”

“Cream or sugar for your coffee?” The clerk gestured at the counter where a list of add-in flavouring syrups was posted. “A syrup, perhaps?”

“Black, please!” Jack frowned. “Don’t understand why people ruin perfectly good coffee with stuff like that. Hides the flavour, if you ask me.”

The man nodded approvingly. “Personally I agree. Now, do you want your muffin warmed?” 

Jack nodded, “Oh yeah, and do you have any butter?”

“You want a couple of small pats or the whole ten-pound block?” There was a definite twinkle in those blue eyes.

“Ten pounds? You have a ten-pound block of butter?” Jack spluttered. “Are you kidding me?”

“I swear! It’s churned fresh daily on a dairy just outside of town. You want to see it?” Ianto wasn’t sure why he issued such an unusual invitation, but there was something about this new customer that was very intriguing.

“Heck, yeah! I love butter!” Jack’s grin was positively lascivious. “Everything’s better with butter!” 

“Well, that and bacon.”

“Bacon…” Jack sighed longingly. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of that on hand? Maybe just a few pieces going spare?”

“As it happens, I do.” The man pointed into the case. “Made maple-bacon bars this morning, just put them in the case ten minutes ago.”

Jack practically drooled on the glass as he saw the donuts, each one slathered with pure maple syrup-flavoured icing and topped with a thick slice of crispy bacon. “I’ll take one… no, two… I’ll taken them all! To go, yeah?”

“I’ve got some in the back I can box up for you while I make you some fresh coffee.” The man pulled Jack’s Danish and muffin from the case and place them on a plate before motioning for Jack to follow him. “Come on, I think I hear that butter calling your name.”

After giving Gwen a quick glance and seeing that she was already on her mobile again, Jack eagerly followed the handsome baker behind the counter, slipping through the double half-doors into a confectionary faeryland. Cooling racks held more than a dozen baking sheets of cookies just out of the oven, there were four different pies on the counter while several beautifully decorated cakes stood atop glass-domed cake stands. Over at a side counter a girl in her late teens was mixing sweet bread dough and at the back of the large room an elderly woman sat, deftly shaping flowers from sugar paste. Beside her a four-tier cake was halfway decorated, just waiting to be finished and then topped by a set of china brides.

“Hey, Ianto?” The young girl waved. “There are plain, cranberry-orange, and currant scones cooled and ready to go out, if you don’t mind doing that, and there’s lemon-poppy seed and cinnamon-streusel breads in the oven, and I’m just finishing that batch of bara brith for this afternoon’s book club.”

“That’s great, Petra, thanks.” Ianto smiled warmly be turning to the older woman. “Need anything, Tegwyn?”

The woman offered him a gentle smile and shook her head before returning her attention to the delicate swath of flowers she was arranging in a curving sweep around the fondant-covered cake. 

Jack marvelled at how truly beautiful it was. “I would never have guessed those were handmade, much less edible!” 

“Tegwyn’s family have been working here since the day the bakery opened, just a few weeks after the war ended, and before that, they worked on my family’s farm since the early 1800’s. The Joneses and the Williams go back many, many generations.” 

Jack smiled at the woman, watching her gently tuck a sprig of sugared violets into the flower swath. “You do such beautiful work.”

Tegwyn nodded her thanks. 

“This way,” Ianto tapped his arm. “Butter waits for no man.” He led Jack towards a bank of large doors. “Oh, hold on a sec…” He took a quick detour and then returned, holding out a folded napkin to Jack.

Curious to see what he’d just been given, Jack carefully unwrapped the parcel to discover three slices of crispy thick-cut bacon. “Aaahhh…!” He quickly stuffed a piece into his mouth, biting it off at the halfway mark and then giving such an explicit moan that Ianto blushed.

Grabbing Jack’s elbow, Ianto rushed him into the over-sized cooler, to a shelf in the back where the dairy supplies were kept. “Tah-da!” He waved dramatically at the centre shelf, where five ten-kilo blocks of fresh creamery butter sat in their waxed paper wrappings. 

Jack stuffed the last of the bacon into his mouth and shoved the crumpled napkin in his pocket. “Mah ah uch it?”

“Huh?” Ianto was too busy watching the way Jack’s mouth moved as he chewed to come up with anything more than a grunt of curiosity.

Swallowing his mouthful, Jack grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Best bacon I’ve had in years.”

“Comes from an organic pig farm, Applewood smoked and then sliced double-thick. Last week I candied some of it and thought I’d gone to heaven!”

Intrigued, Jack wanted to know more. “What’s candied mean?”

Ianto leaned against the shelf and casually crossed his arms. “You pat brown sugar onto the slices and then bake it in the over til it’s crisp. I’m telling you…” He leaned closer to Jack and lowered his voice. “It’s absolutely naughty,” he confided. “I’ve even tried adding a hint of cayenne pepper to the sugar for a wee bit of heat.

Jack laughed. “Want some now!”

“It gets better! I saw this on a cooking show from the States the other day. First you cook the bacon til it’s crisp and then you coat it in a thick pancake batter and deep-fry it. You can dip it in maple syrup or serve it with powdered sugar or jam. I’m gonna try making it at home this weekend.”

“Seriously?” Jack knew his mouth was hanging open, he just hoped he wasn’t drooling. “Like a bacon pancake you can eat with your hands? Can I come over and help?” Before he could stop the words, Jack invited himself to Ianto’s house. “Please?”

“Uh… yeah,” Ianto wasn’t sure what to say. Part of him really wanted Jack to be there but the rest of him was fully aware of the rather frightening woman at the window table. Deciding to go for broke, he took a deep breath and agreed. “I’ll see you here at six pm on Saturday then.”

“Yeah!” Jack punched the air and then grinned apologetically. “Sorry about that, but yeah me!” 

Ianto chuckled. “Yeah me too!” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“I said, what did you say earlier, when you had a mouthful of bacon.”

“Erm…” Jack thought back but all he could remember was how delicious that bacon had been. “Oh, wait… I remember! I asked if I could touch the butter.”

“Since it’s completely wrapped I don’t see why not.” Ianto shrugged. “Your hands are clean, I presume?”

Child-like, Jack raised his hands and showed Ianto the fronts and backs. “Clean handy-pandies!”

“Well then…” Chuckling at Jack’s antics, Ianto waved at the butter. “Be my guest!”

Reverently, Jack reached out and gently stroked his fingers across the surface of the block. “I’ve never seen this much butter at one time, except maybe in the grocery store.”

“I’ll guarantee ours is fresher,” Ianto nodded with pride. “That was in a cow, well, a bunch of cows this time yesterday.” 

“Herd,” Jack corrected absentmindedly, his brain still busy processing the true wonders of bacon and butter in Ianto’s world.

“Hmmm?” Ianto canted his head, trying to place a faintly-audible sound. “What’s that?”

“A herd is the correct name for a bunch of cows.”

“No, I know what a herd is,” Ianto frowned as he moved towards the cooler’s door. “I mean, what is that noise?” He reached for the door handle at the same moment the door swung open.

“I’m sorry, Ianto, but there’s a real nutter at the front counter. She’s demanding to see the manager.” Petra glanced over her shoulder as if Gwen were right behind her. “She’s unbelievable!”

“Oh, crap!” Jack felt like he’d been dashed with cold water; he’d forgotten all about her. 

Ianto held the cooler door open as Jack slipped out and when their bodies brushed against one another, an intense jolt passed between them, eliciting sharp gasps from each man. “Static electricity, I guess. Sorry about that.”

Jack didn’t know what to say, so he rubbed the spot on his chest where the charge had struck. He’d never experienced anything so startling before. ‘Static electricity, my arse,’ his brain teased him. ‘That’s what we call a physical connection, old boy.’ Jack’s internal musings were interrupted by the shrill clanging of the service bell from the front counter.

“She’s gonna kill that bell,” Jack muttered and both Ianto and Petra giggled.

“I am still waiting!” Gwen shrieked angrily. “Get me the sodding manager right now!” She stamped her foot like a bratty ten-year-old.

Jack glanced sheepishly at Ianto. “Sorry about her,” he said quietly as they headed towards the front of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” Ianto reassured him. “We get all kinds of brides in here.” He pushed Jack through the swinging doors, trying not to notice the heat he felt as his fingers touched Jack’s back. “I’ll bring your coffee and pastries out in just a moment, and we’ll put together a nice tasting plate for her.”

“Thanks, Yan.” Jack took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and headed into the dining room and Gwen, looking like a man about to face a firing squad.


	2. Chapter 2

Everything’s Better With Bacon 

Chapter Two

‘Yan…’ Ianto smiled broadly. ‘I like that.’ 

Jack braced himself as he passed through the swinging doors. ‘Heaven help me to not stuff a croissant down her throat!’

“Where have you been?!” Gwen glared daggers at Jack and she brandished her mobile at him like it was a weapon. “You’re supposed to be helping me!”

“You haven’t needed help using a telephone since you were three years old.” Jack’s tone was wry and he immediately regretted his words; there was no telling what would set her off these days and he was worried that she’d go off on a truly major tantrum.

Gwen stared at him for a moment and then to his utter amazement, she burst out laughing. “Oh my God! I remember that!” she chortled. “The look on your face!”

With a grimace, Jack unconsciously reached up and rubbed the side of his head. Thirty-odd years later and he still remembered the day they were playing together in his back garden; he was four and she was three. He’d been playing with a plastic telephone when Gwen had decided she wanted it; she’d hit him on the head with a fire truck when he hadn’t surrendered the toy fast enough to suit her.

“Yeah, good times.” Jack came out from behind the counter and linked arms with Gwen, leading her back to the window table. “They’re working on your cakes right now.” He held her seat for her, sliding it in as she sat down and then he smiled back when she nodded approvingly.

“See? I’ll make a gentleman out of you yet, Jack Harkness.”

“I think you’ll find my mother already…” Jack was interrupted when Petra appeared at the table bearing a tray.

“Your coffee, Sir.” She set down the over-sized mug, a plate holding Jack’s Danish and his muffin which sat next to four pats of pure creamery butter, and a set of silverware atop a snowy white napkin.

“Gods, that looks good!” Jack was reaching for the muffin and his butter knife before Petra had even turned to ask Gwen if she’d like tea or coffee.

“Don’t you think you should have asked me first? It is ladies before gentlemen, you know.” Gwen’s tone was both sneering and condemning. “Or don’t you young people follow that anymore?”

Petra opened her mouth to retort just as Ianto slid up beside her and set a low cake stand down in front of Gwen, then set down the accompanying small card and a pen. 

“Here are six samples of our best, ma’am.” He added a small plate, silverware and a napkin. “I hope you find something you like.” He and Petra began to leave but Gwen stopped them.

“You can’t be serious!”

Ianto nodded for Petra to return to the kitchen and turned his attention back to Gwen. “I’m sorry?” He stitched a patient smile to his lips.

“You should be! You cannot possibly expect me to use the same dirty fork and plate for each sample?” She was outraged.

Swallowing back a bubble of laughter, Ianto managed to sketch a small bow before glancing quickly at Jack, who actually dared to wink back, making it even harder for Ianto to maintain his composure. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’ll certainly bring you everything you need, ma’am. It was such an inexcusable oversight on my part, ma’am.” Ianto bowed again and walked rapidly back to the kitchens, dashing into the cooler where he burst into loud bellows of laughter before the door had even closed behind him. 

When he emerged a few minutes later, he found Petra waiting with a tray holding a half-dozen small plates, forks and spoons. “Best not keep Miss Etiquette waiting any longer, Ianto. You don’t want her to huff and puff and blow the place down!” 

Ianto was struck by a fit of giggles as he took the tray and he had to pause behind the swinging doors and adopt a sombre look before entering the front of the shop. With great solemnity, he set everything out on Gwen’s table, taking the time to make sure each utensil was lined up as precisely as soldiers and then he turned to leave, again catching Jack’s eye, noticing the bright twinkle there. He waggled an eyebrow in return.

“Just a minute,” Gwen stopped him from leaving again. “Is this some kind of guessing game? How exactly am I to know what I’m eating?”

Jack openly gaped at her as did Ianto, both men staring first at the tasting plate and then at her. There were three miniature cupcakes and three squares of cake, about two bites each, and in front of each one was a small folded paper name tag identifying the treat. Beside the plate lay the five-by-six-inch card, with a line giving a brief description of each cake and its frosting and there was space enough for the taster to make notes.

“Each cake on your tasting plate is clearly identified by the name tag,” Ianto pointed, “and the cakes are listed alphabetically on the card.”

Noticing the coordinating information for the first time, Gwen flushed and forced a smile to her face. “Oh… Yes, of course.” Her tone was haughty. “I would expect nothing less.”

“Would you like tea, coffee or water, Gwen?” Jack spoke up. “I highly recommend the coffee, it’s fantastic!”

“Then I’ll have the tea,” Gwen snapped. “And get a move on, I have better things to do than sit here all day!”

Ianto could barely prevent himself from clicking his heels as he went back to the kitchen yet again in an attempt to please a rather nasty customer. He returned to the table and set out a bone china cup and saucer and a pot of tea with a matching cream and sugar set. “Will there be anything else?”

Gwen waved him away imperiously. “If I need you I’ll ring.” She pretended not to notice when Ianto came back a moment later and set the service bell next to the teapot; however, she did give Jack’s shin a smart kick when he snorted loudly into his coffee mug. 

Trying hard not to watch Gwen, Jack concentrated on finally halving his warm muffin and slathering it with soft butter. Closing his eyes, he took his first bite of sweet banana, pieces of nut and rich butter and felt his taste buds begin to dance as he chewed. “Oh God, this is good!”

“Christ on a crutch, Jack, chew with your mouth closed!” Gwen complained sharply. “You are such a pig!”

He swallowed and smacked his lips appreciatively. “Just a minute ago you thought I was a gentleman.”

“I think you’ll find,” she sniffed haughtily, “that I said, ‘I’ll make a gentleman out of you’, not that you are one.”

Jack shrugged, not really listening and definitely not caring as he reverently stuffed another hunk of buttered muffin in his mouth. ‘I gotta take some of these home!’ he silently chortled and then he remembered that there were half a dozen maple bacon bars waiting for him in the kitchen. ‘I wonder if I can just live here?’ he pondered blissfully as he drained his coffee. 

After selecting the first little cupcake she wanted to try and setting it on one of the small plates, Gwen picked up the card. “All right, let’s see, Red Velvet…” She slid her finger down the lines to the correct one: Rich moist chocolate-buttermilk cake with decadent cream cheese frosting. Picking up a fork, she sliced a piece from the cupcake, delicately placed it in her mouth and immediately began talking.

“Oh my God!” Using her fingers Gwen picked up the remainder of the cupcake and shoved it all into her mouth.

Jack had been wondering if Ianto would come out and refill his empty mug or if it would be okay if he went into the kitchen himself; he glanced up just in time to see into Gwen’s gaping maw, chocolate cake and all. “Jesus, Gwen! Close your mouth! You look like a…” he paused for a second, wondering if he dared say what he was really thinking, ‘your mouth looks like a shithole’ and then thought better of it. “…an unflushed toilet.” 

“That’s so gross!” she yelled, chocolate-flavoured spittle flying across the table. “You are such a pig, Jack!” 

Getting up from the table, he just shrugged. “Takes one to know one,” and he took his mug into the kitchen to find Ianto and get a cup of fresh coffee.

“Hey, Jack,” Ianto smiled broadly. “How was the butter?”

“Orgasmic, Yan, I swear.” Jack smacked his lips appreciatively. “And the only thing better than your pastries is your coffee, but somebody drank all mine.” He put on his very best pout and held out his mug with a pitiful quiver of his lower lip. “Got any more?”

“I knew it!” Ianto accepted the mug with a mock growl. 

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come in here after all,’ Jack’s pout rapidly disappeared and a worried frown took its place. “Knew what?” 

“You only love me for my coffee!” Ianto flounced dramatically over to a counter by the door and while Jack admired his sure, economical movements, he selected beans from several different containers and ground them, and then turned the machine on. As the coffee brewed he bustled about the kitchen, peeking into the ovens, checking the rise on a batch of dough, and adding a few things to a shopping list posted on the cooler door.

Finally, he poured the steaming coffee and handed the mug to Jack, who immediately buried his nose in the delicious fragrance rising to meet his nostrils. 

“Oh, my God,” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering as he breathed in deeply. “I have never had coffee this good. I don’t know how you do it.”

Ianto blushed slightly at the praise. “Roasting the beans is the most important, and I have a man who is an expert at bring out the best in each batch. Then comes the blending of beans from different areas. I like experimenting with various blends.”

“Well, I hope you remember this one, cos it’s fantastic!” Jack took another sip, savouring the slightly bitter liquid as it rolled around on his tongue. “You must make a fortune with this.” He took another drink. “Maybe you should start another pot brewing now; I’ll drink slowly so there’s no delay.” 

‘It’s now or never, Ianto Jones, you’ll never know if you don’t ask’ Ianto silently chastised himself. “May I ask you a personal question, Jack?” Ianto focused on brewing the man another cup of coffee.

Secretly Jack was delighted. “Erm… yeah, I guess…” He didn’t want to sound too eager. ‘Ask me anything, Ianto, cos I’ll tell you everything!’

“Well, you have fondled my butter and snacked on my bacon…” Too late, Ianto heard what he’d just said and then suddenly several things all happened at once.

First, Ianto blushed with horror as the blatant sexual innuendo became clear.

Jack snorted with amusement, sending coffee out his nose and down his chin.

Petra gasped and fumbled the pouring bowl she was holding, sending chocolate batter cascading across the counter instead of into the cake tin.

And finally, at the back of the kitchen, Tegwyn burst into laughter, the first sound she’d made all day; it was a crystal-clear bell sound, prompting the others to join in.

Jack laughed so deeply that he went weak in the knees and had to slide down the cupboard to sit on the floor while Petra couldn’t stop giggling loudly as she cleaned the counter and Tegwyn sat on her stool with her apron over her face, her shoulders shaking with now-silent laughter.

When he had his wits about him once again, Ianto retrieved a wet towel and knelt next to Jack, gently wiping the coffee from his face and dabbing at the small stain on his shirt while keeping his eyes downcast. He was too horrified by what he’d said to meet Jack’s gaze. To rectify that, Jack put his fingers under Ianto’s chin and gently raised his head so that he had no choice but to look into Jack’s eyes.

“You were going to ask me a question?”

“Ummm… yeah,” Ianto got to his feet and held out his hand to help Jack up, pretending not to notice when Jack held on for just a moment or two longer than was actually necessary. He took a deep breath. “Remember, this is based solely on the observations I’ve made over the last half hour or so, and I know I don’t really have the right to ask this, but Gwen really doesn’t seem like your type. Why are you marrying her?” He saw the way Jack’s jaw dropped and he backed away, hastily amending, “No! No, never mind! That’s way too personal; I’m sorry!” He moved away quickly, going over to run a sink of hot sudsy water. 

‘I cannot believe I just asked him that! For God’s sake, man, it’s none of my business!’ 

“No!” Jack rushed over and grabbed hold of Ianto’s arm, spinning him around. “Oh God, no! A hundred, thousand million times no! I’m not marrying that daft cow! My best friend is; I’m just the best man!”

Now it was Ianto’s turn to stare, gobsmacked. “Then why are you doing the tasting with her? That’s usually the bride and groom, or the bride and her mother and/or maid of honour.”

“Well, let’s see. Rhys, the groom-to-be is best man at his parent’s vows renewal today; Gwen’s not there because she and her future mother-in-law cannot stand each other. Between you and me, I don’t think she was even invited. Gwen’s mother, Mary, is currently across the pond in Canada visiting with her sister who broke her leg skiing,” Jack ticked things off on his fingers. “And last but not least, the maid of honour eloped to Las Vegas a few days ago. She and her new husband Owen are probably…” 

He glanced at his watch, the eight-hour time difference between Cardiff and the West Coast of the US meant that it was seven o’clock in the evening there, “on their way to some fancy show on the Strip. This has been building since before the engagement was even announced, believe me. After putting up with Gwen’s over-the-top wedding planning ideas, her endless demands for attention from everyone and then having hissy-fit tantrums when things don’t go her way, Toshiko decided that she loved her family, friends and fiancé way too much to put them through that nightmare.”

“Ah, Gwen’s a bridezilla,” Ianto grinned. “Actually dealt with a few of those in my time.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ianto nodded gravely. “My sister Rhiannon may even have been the original bridezilla. She got married back when I was still a kid – I had just turned eleven – six-year gap between us – and I remember her having this screamin’ meemie fit at the dressmaker’s when her gown didn’t fit her boobs anymore cos they’d gotten enormous cos she was pregnant.” There was a bright slightly naughty twinkle in his eyes. “She made the poor woman cry and then Mam whacked Rhi right across the back of the head with her purse cos the lady was my mam’s best friend and was doing Rhi a favour, giving her a great deal on her wedding gown.”

Jack listened intently, struck by the way Ianto’s face just came alive as he told the story.

“Gotta say, Mam clobbering Rhi really made being dragged to the dress shop on a Saturday afternoon when I could have been out playing… Absolutely priceless! Seeing that made it all worth it.” Ianto laughed fondly at the memory. “The look on Rhi’s face! Gods, what I wouldn’t have given for a camera!”

Out in the front of the shop, Gwen continued to munch her way through her wedding cakes sampler; her second random choice was a delicious coffee-and-walnut cake frosted with… her finger tracked the card til she found it. “Yes! I knew it! Coffee buttercream!” She picked the cake up again but instead of eating it, she sucked all the frosting off the top, discarded the rest and went on to selection number three, something she thought she recognised. Consulting the card, she read, Devonshire Honey Cake, rich and sweet. It was good, but she quickly dismissed it, drawing a line through the name on the card and picking up a familiar looking piece of cake.

Classic Victoria sponge with whipped sweet crème and fresh strawberries. Gwen licked her lips in anticipation; her mam still made a Victoria sponge every year for Gwen’s birthday. Taking the fan-cut strawberry decorating the top of the cupcake she popped it in her mouth, savouring the tart sweetness on her tongue before licking all the whipped cream from the top of the sponge and putting it back on the plate. ‘Always the best part!’ she thought gleefully, glad that her mother wasn’t around to chastise her.

Next came an exquisite Mokatine, not one of the sample cupcakes, but an individual miniature layered cake described as having a delicate genoise sponge and crème beurre au moka, topped with chocolate fondant, rolled in finely chopped almonds, and piped with coffee icing. It was almost too pretty to eat but after looking at it for twenty seconds, Gwen crammed nearly half of it in her mouth, barely swallowing before most of the second half followed and she tried licking the delicious icing from her fingers, but it ended up combining with the half-chewed cake still in her mouth and smearing all over her hand and her face.

Jack drained the last of his second cup of coffee and looked at the empty mug forlornly. “I don’t know what you do to make your coffee taste like heaven, Yan, but if you could bottle it and sell it, you’d be a fourple-trazillionaire.” He smiled at Ianto. “Really, I swear.”

Ianto’s eyebrow rose with amusement and he looked askance at Jack. “Really really?”

“I mean it!” Jack grinned. “I bet you could even make Oprah’s list of her favourite things that she does at Christmas, you know, when she gives all that stuff away to the audience? One time I remember it was all teachers that year cos she has this soft spot for teachers.”

“You watch Oprah?” Ianto didn’t know whether to believe Jack or not. ‘He does not look the kinda guy who listens to Oprah’s advice!’ 

“Well, I don’t, not really, but it was my mom’s favourite show, and she liked it when I came over and watched it with her, especially the Christmas ones where she did her favourite things giveaway. It was kind of our holiday tradition; we’d decide which things we would want and who we’d give the rest to.”

‘Was her fav?’ Ianto didn’t want to ask. “Suppose you want more coffee?” His eyes were twinkling merrily as he called over to Petra, “See, I told you. This man only wants me for my coffee.” He took the fresh pot to Jack and slowly poured the liquid gold into Jack’s waiting mug, his focus split between watching the level in the cup and watching the look on Jack’s face as he in turn stared in awe at the dark brown waterfall.

“Oh my God!” 

Gwen’s shriek could be heard all the way to the back of the bakery, startling Tegwyn, who dropped the rosebud she was sculpting and causing Ianto to splash coffee onto the floor.

Before anyone knew what was happening, Gwen burst through the double doors, waving the cake card in one hand while the other held a small bit of cake out in front of her like it was radioactive.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything’s Better With Bacon

Chapter Three

“Gwen, what are you doing back here?” Jack set his coffee mug down. “You…”

“You need to return to the front of the shop, please,” Ianto stepped forward, deftly turning Gwen without touching her, sending her back through the doors before she could protest with both Ianto and Jack following.

“This is the one!” Gwen found herself on the public side of the front counter and leaned over it waving the bit of cake so close to Ianto’s face that he had to pull back or get it up his nose. “This is the one I want! You have to make me this one!” Her voice was shrill with excitement.

“Oh yes, the Mokatine,” Ianto nodded. “That is indeed a lovely one.” He held out his hand. “May I have it please?”

“Erm…” Gwen gazed longingly at the nearly unrecognisable remainder of the cake and then resolutely plunked it into the palm of his hand.

It was all Jack could do to keep from laughing his guts out as he watched a horrified Ianto looking between the chocolate smear in his hand and Gwen licking the sticky mess from her fingers. Biting the inside of his mouth helped him maintain some semblance of composure, but Jack knew he would never forget the expression on the young Welsh baker’s face no matter what.

Ianto barely suppressed a shudder of disgust as he held his hand out in front of him as far as possible, reacting as if it were carrying a live grenade; he marched stiffly into his kitchen and straight to the sink, where he proceeded to wash his hands thoroughly, inspect them carefully and then wash them again before he was satisfied they were truly clean. A world-class surgeon preparing to operate never had hands as clean as Ianto’s at that moment. Then straightening his shoulders, he went back out to the front of the shop to find that while Gwen had left sticky chocolate prints all over his countertop, she had actually sat back down at the little table where she was stirring sugar into her tea and clanging the spoon against the delicate china cup.

Stepping up to the table, Ianto plastered a small smile on his face. “I apologise for the misunderstanding… I meant may I please have the card?”

“Huh… wha…?” Gwen banged her cup back into its saucer and slapped the note card into his outstretched hand. There were chocolate smears on the card’s face but Ianto refused to let his distaste show.

Turning the card over, Ianto took a pencil from his pocket. “Name and address, please?” He quickly jotted down the information as Gwen spoke. “Mobile number?” That joined the previous data. “Now, when is the wedding going to be?”

“It’s the last Saturday in July, the 28th.” Gwen beamed with true happiness. Despite her Bridezilla behaviour, she really was in love with Rhys and was honestly looking forward to marrying him.

“Have you finalised your guest list yet?”

Gwen nodded. “Did that months ago!”

“Do you know how many guests will there be attending the reception? If not yet, it’s not a problem; a ballpark figure will do.”

The bride-to-be nodded. “We’ve sent out sixty invitations, but a few of those are to relatives overseas who won’t be coming but who expect to be invited anyway, you know?”

“Yes, actually,” Ianto smiled at her. “Had a bride last fall who invited over one hundred guests, but only twenty-one actually came. The rest were living in Australia, New Zealand and on the islands of the South Pacific so the cost of travel was just too prohibitive.”

“Wow…” Gwen’s eyes were huge. “Imagine having over a hundred people at your wedding! All those wonderful gifts! Wouldn’t that be absolutely luscious!”

Ianto risked a quick look at Jack who was hiding behind his hand, his eyes dancing with merriment. “How many of your RSVP cards have come back? Can you give me an estimate of how many will be there?”

“Well,” she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and took a sip of her tea. “We’ve only gotten thirty-one back, but you know… I mean, people today, no courtesy, I’m sure there’ll be more to come.”

“How many would you like to estimate, just so that I have an idea of the work on my end,” Ianto prompted patiently.

“Well…” Gwen repeated. “Of those sixty cards, fourteen are overseas, so that’s…” She paused, and it was clear to both men that she was trying to do the maths in her head.

“It’s forty-six, Gwen,” Jack was being helpful.

“I know that!” she snapped at him, sending a death-glare in his direction. “I think mam said she’d gotten RSVPs for a total of twenty-five people.”

Biting the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing, Ianto studied his notecard. “So, you’ve already received cards for twenty-five guests… How many of the remaining twenty-one do you think will respond or would you like me to plan on all forty-six? Just in case they show up without having given you the courtesy of a response?”

Gwen cast the baker a grateful glance; she was honestly worried that twenty-five guests were all that would show up, and most of those were friends and family of her fiancé, Rhys. “That’s a brilliant idea!” She shook her head. “The common courtesies of our parents and grandparents’ day are long gone, don’t you think?”

Ianto nodded and smiled briefly. “Why don’t I make you a total of fifty, the remaining four on the house, so that if anyone wants to have a second one they can or you and your fiancé have a few to enjoy on your honeymoon.”

Unused to such kindness, especially from a stranger, Gwen could feel unexpected tears springing to her eyes. Seeing her discomfort, Jack spoke up.

“Yan, you are a prince!” His smile for the young baker was blinding. “What a thoughtful thing to do.”

Slightly embarrassed but definitely pleased with Jack’s smile, Ianto cleared his throat. “I’ll work up a price for forty-six Mokatine; do you want to wait for the quote or would you prefer I call you later today?”

Thankful for the out, Gwen gathered her purse and mobile before standing up. “I’ve got more shopping to do, so call me later. If I don’t answer you can leave a message and I’ll get back to you tomorrow at the latest, okay?” She headed for the door. “Let’s go, Jack! You’re wasting my time sitting there.”

Even though he’d have given anything to stay and spend more time with Ianto, Jack also stood; he’d promised Gwen the day was hers and he just couldn’t in good conscience break a promise even over someone as amazing as this Welshman. As he walked past the man he brushed up against him, whispering, “I’ll see you Saturday at six” and then he was out the door.

Ianto felt like he was walking on air as he gathered up some of the dirty dishes from Gwen’s table and headed for the kitchen. As he passed the display case it suddenly dawned on him that Jack had forgotten his pastries. Setting the dishes on the counter he spun around and hurried over to the door, pushing it open and dashing outside. He glanced down the sidewalk but didn’t see Jack so he turned and ran around the corner of the building…

And crashed into Jack, colliding with him so hard that they were both knocked to the ground.

It took several moments before they had caught their breath and had clambered to their feet. They both started speaking at the same time.

“You forgot your pastries!”

“I forgot my bacon!”

They looked at each other and burst into laughter.

Jack managed to speak first. “I was just coming back in to get my stuff.”

Ianto grinned at him. “I remembered it just after you left.” He glanced around. “No Gwen?”

“Ditched her in the jewellers next door.”

“Let’s not waste any time then!” Ianto grabbed his hand, trying very hard to ignore the burst of electricity that passed between them and pulled him back into the bakery and through to the kitchen. He only let go of Jack when he needed both hands to put the box of maple-bacon bars in a carrier bag.

“Thank you so much…” A sudden look of horror passed over Jack’s face. “Jeez, Ianto! I forgot to pay you! Gwen just…”

“I’ll put the cost of the tasting on the bill for Gwen’s reception,” Ianto laughed and shook his head. “And yours is all on the house…”

“No, seriously!”

“Yes, seriously, it’s worth every penny to have met you.” Ianto’s smile changed from amusement to sincerity. “I was mesmerised from the moment I saw you standing there drooling on my sparkling clean glass case.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat as he gazed into Ianto’s blue eyes. “I have never fallen for a guy so hard or so fast before but you… you just…”

“Jack!” Gwen’s strident screech echoed through the bakery.

“Oh Lord, Bridezilla’s back,” Jack sighed.

“If you want to wait a moment I’ll brew you a coffee to go?” Ianto offered.

“That would be brilliant!” Jack enthused. “I can face the afternoon shops with Gwen if I’m properly fortified!”

“I’m waiting, Jack!”

Jack sighed deeply. “I guess the coffee is a no-go, I’m sorry, Yan.”

“Me too.” Ianto held out the bag. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Yeah…” Jack lingered at the kitchen doors for a moment, unwilling to let Ianto out of his sight. “Sat…”

“Now, Jack Harkness!”

“…urday, I promise.”


	4. Chapter Four

Everything’s Better With Bacon 

Chapter Four

Jack paused in front of a store window for the third time and re-checked his appearance. ‘God, I’m as bad as Gwen!’ he laughed to himself before rounding the corner and arriving in front of ‘JONES the BAKER’. “Now or never, Harkness!” He reached out to knock on the glass just as the door opened.

“Jack!” There was a bright smile on Ianto’s face when he saw Jack standing there. “Come in!” He stood aside and as Jack entered their bodies brushed against one another, sending a shock of electricity between them. Jack paused and looked at Ianto with a mixture of surprise and pleasure, his gaze meeting blue eyes filled with the same.

“Uh…” Ianto tore his gaze away from Jack’s and let the man inside, closing and locking the door behind him. “This way.” He led his guest past a now empty but sparkling clean display case and into the kitchen where he picked up a basket and then headed toward a door at the back of the room. “Let’s go upstairs.” He waited for Jack to start up the staircase before turning off the kitchen lights and locking the door.

Three steps up and Ianto found himself staring directly at Jack’s butt, clad in well-worn jeans that hugged his form in soft denim. His fingers just itched to reach out and caress such tempting fruit but he forced himself to keep his hands to himself… ‘For the moment…’ he grinned.

Topping the stairs, Jack stepped into Ianto’s living room and paused. The room was cool and softly lit by two lamps that glowed in the corners. Ianto reached around him, flicking the light switch and instantly several more lamps brightened the room. 

Looking around, Jack was immediately enthralled by the sight of two opposite walls covered with floor to ceiling shelves filled with row upon row of books interspersed with a few select knick-knacks and object d’art. There was a comfortable armchair near the window with a reading lamp hovering over it from behind and a table next to it with a coffee mug – ‘It’s actually on a coaster!’ Jack chortled silently – and a well-thumbed paperback book. He tilted his head and squinted, trying to see the title. 

“Stranger in a Strange Land, by Heinlein,” Ianto supplied quietly. “Fifth time reading it through although sometimes I just read my favourite parts.”

“Love Heinlein,” Jack agreed. “My fav is Farnham’s Freehold.”

“That was my grandfather’s favourite,” Ianto nodded in recognition. “I think because of the war and all. Being thrust into a strange new world was I imagine a lot like trying to recover and rebuild Wales and the UK after the war. So much uncertainty, you know?”

Jack nodded. “I do. My dad’s dad and uncle were both killed. Grampa was in the Royal Air Force and Uncle Wally was a Royal Marine. They survived the whole of the war, fought in Europe and Africa, and then died just hours apart at the very end, both at the Invasion of Normandy, on separate beaches.”

“I’m sorry, Jack.” Ianto reached out and touched Jack’s arm in comfort. “My great-grandmother always said we would be speaking German if you Americans hadn’t been such a vital force to be reckoned with. My mam-gu used to tell us kids stories of GI’s and their gifts of nylons and chocolate; after she passed away and we were cleaning out her cottage we found a pair of French silk stockings, unopened and still in their packaging, in a hankie box carefully wrapped with a ribbon.”

“Really?” Jack waggled his eyebrows. “What do you suppose she promised some poor soldier to get a gift like that?!”

“Jack!” This time Ianto slapped Jack’s arm. “That’s my grandmother you’re talking about!” and he giggled but then he sobered up again. “I am really sorry about your family, though.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jack smiled and said, “My gramma never really got over the loss of her husband; fortunately, my father was born just after my grandfather went into the service, so Dad became her whole world, and when I was born to carry on the family name, she was just overjoyed.”

“So, does that mean you are Jack Harkness… the third?”

“Actually, I’m John George Henry Harkness the seventh.”

Ianto gaped. “Huh…?”

Jack grinned at the look of disbelief on Ianto’s face. “Yep,” and he popped the ‘P’ like he’d heard the Welsh man do. “Have the family tree to prove it.”

“Duw!” Ianto nodded. “That’s amazing!” 

“Doesn’t your family have a naming tradition?”

“You know,” Ianto considered, “now that you mention it, there’s always a John or a version of it in every generation of our family.”

“How many versions of John are there?”

Ianto grinned and motioned for Jack to follow him into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll make coffee.” He began his preparations, selecting his beans, running them through the grinder and as the coffee began to brew the kitchen was filled with a delicious aroma. 

“Ianto is a Welsh version of John, as is Ifan and Iwan, and in Scotland, there’s Ian and Euan spelt with both the ‘U’ and the ‘W’.” He looked at Jack with a sudden case of shyness. “You called me Yan.”

“Did I…?” Jack teased gently. “Seems rather forward of me, don’t you think?”

“Apparently, proper bacon loosens the tongue… much like a good whiskey.” The coffee finished its cycle and Ianto turned away but not before he caught the bright smile on Jack’s face.

Jack laughed. “Actually, I think it was the coffee, my third cup?” 

“No,” Ianto set a mug of steaming liquid gold in front of his guest. “It was after you ate my bacon but before you fondled my butter or tasted my coffee. Remember?”

Jack took a sip of coffee, giving himself a few seconds to think. “Oh yeah…” He sighed happily. “That was some really great bacon!”

“Yes, it was… I only get the best for my customers…” Ianto peeped at Jack over the rim of his mug, “…and my friends.”

Beaming brightly, Jack raised his mug in salute. “Okay, enough foreplay… where is the bacon anyway?”

With a perfect eye roll, Ianto went to his fridge and pulled out a paper-wrapped package, setting it on the table in front of Jack. “Ask and ye shall receive, sir!”

“And I didn’t get you anything!”

“You will next time, I’m sure.” Ianto’s eyes widened and his heart fluttered as he assumed there would be a next time.

Momentarily caught on the horns of a dilemma, Jack looked back and forth between drinking Ianto’s delicious coffee and the prospect of seeing more bacon. In his mind the tension was palpable, the battle one of wills, a mighty struggle… 

“Well, go ahead, open it!” Ianto took the mug from Jack’s hand and pushed the package closer to him. “I promise it won’t bite.”

With a rustle of paper, Jack revealed a pound and a half of lovely, meaty, streaky bacon just waiting to be cooked and eaten.

“Wow!” Jack was already salivating; he could smell the smoky goodness. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

That earned him another eye roll from Ianto who returned Jack’s mug, drained his own coffee and stood. “Your wish is my command, sir!” He gathered the bacon and set it on the counter, finding a baking rack and putting it next to the bacon. He then turned and looked at Jack expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?” 

“I’m not doing all the work myself, so get your butt over here, wash your hands and lay the bacon on the rack so we can bake it off.”

Jack’s eyes were huge as he swallowed his coffee with an audible gulp. “Really?” He’d hoped Ianto would let him help, he loved to cook but living alone he didn’t really bother doing much more than microwave frozen meals and order takeaway. He couldn’t move fast enough, rushing over to Ianto’s side.

“Wash your hands and I’ll get you an apron.”

Jack could have been a surgeon prepping for the operating theatre as he scrubbed his hands and then dried them on a soft tea towel Ianto handed him, while Ianto slipped an apron emblazoned with a red Welsh dragon over his head and tied it for him.

“Okay, just lay each slice on the rack, don’t let them touch… oh wait!” Ianto dashed into his pantry and grabbed a roll of cooking parchment, tearing off a sheet and putting it on the sheet pan below the rack. “Makes cleaning up a breeze,” he explained, having caught sight of Jack’s amused yet curious grin.

“Whatever you say, Chef.” While Jack carefully set out the bacon strips, taking great care to space them evenly apart, Ianto busied himself preparing the pancake batter. 

“Yan, why do you use streaky bacon instead of the usual back bacon rashers?”

Ianto shrugged as he whisked his batter. “When I started making the maple bacon bars for the bakery I tried the rashers at first, but they didn’t quite fit on the doughnut, looked sloppy, and when I trimmed each one to fit it looked even worse.” He covered the bowl with cling film and set it aside.

“Bet those trimmings were yummy,” Jack’s mind filled with the image of crispy bits and pieces of bacon just begging to be nibbled upon.

“Oh yeah, I mixed them into some corn muffin batter, slathered them with honey butter, top marks in yummy.” Ianto set his deep fryer on the counter and began pouring oil into the reservoir.

Jack examined his work, adjusted one just the slightest and when he was satisfied they were laying perfectly, he turned to Ianto. “Is this okay?”

Ianto finished pouring his oil and looked at the baking rack, frowning at what he saw.   
Jack’s heart sank. “What did I do wrong?”

“I don’t…” he snapped his fingers. “Skewers! I forgot the skewers!” Jack watched with fond amusement as Ianto flapped about his kitchen and produced a plastic bottle holding a dozen wooden skewers soaking in water. Catching sight of Jack, Ianto stopped moving, set the bottle down and leaned against the counter.

“I swear I’m not this dithery when I’m working, Jack,” he said earnestly. “Really I’m not! Downstairs everything goes like clockwork! I don’t understand what’s going on!”

“Come here,” Jack held out his arms, his heart warming when Ianto didn’t hesitate to step into their circle and sigh softly as Jack closed those arms around him. “It’s all on me; I’m distracting you cos I’m just oozing bacon lust all over the place. You’re just caught up in the gravitational pull.”

Ianto huffed a small chuckle against Jack’s chest. “I thought there was something weird going on!” He reluctantly pushed away from Jack. “Okay, balance restored, let’s get back to work.”

“Yeah!” Jack crowed. “Coffee and bacon wait for no man!”

After washing their hands, Ianto showed Jack how to thread the bacon strips onto the skewers, weaving each piece onto the wet wood in three places. “Always go through the meat and not the fat, cos the fat can tear.”

Once the bacon was ready Ianto slid the tray into the oven and set the timer. “Now we wait. Want another coffee?”

“Like you have to ask?” Jack laughed and retrieved his mug from the table. 

Twenty minutes later the timer dinged and when Ianto opened the oven door the aroma from the crispy bacon skewers made Jack salivate madly and his eyes followed Ianto’s every movement as he retrieved some paper towelling to blot off any excess grease from the bacon and then set the tray on a trivet to cool. 

As the two men sat drinking their coffee, enjoying the combination of bacon and coffee scented air, Jack suddenly sat up straight. “Oh! I know…!”

“Huh…” Ianto was in mid-sip and he snorted into his coffee as he looked around. “What?”

“I was gonna ask earlier but then I got off track…” Jack waved a hand toward the counter. “Why the… the wooden thingies?” He momentarily forgot the word he was looking for.

“The skewers?” Ianto grinned. “I know, such an alien term, yeah?”

“All right, Mr Smarty-Pants!” Jack grinned back. “The skewers. Why not just cook the bacon flat?”

“First off, the skewer offers a handle to use for dipping in the batter and for putting in and taking the bacon out of the hot oil.”

Jack waited until finally he just couldn’t stand it any longer. “And second?!”

Ianto laughed out loud. “Everything tastes better on a stick!”

A short while later, with the oil up to temperature, Ianto showed Jack how to dip a bacon skewer in the pancake batter, swirling it around to make sure it was evenly covered and then letting the excess drip before gently lowering the skewer into the oil, holding it for several seconds before releasing it.

Jack watched with growing anticipation as it floated and bubbled away happily. “How long?” He shifted from foot to foot like an overly anxious kid. “How much longer?”

“You are such a child, Jack!” Ianto poked him in the ribs, pushing him out of the way so he could add a second skewer to the fryer. “It only takes two or three minutes, keep an eye on the colour and when it’s golden brown it should be done.”

“Yeah!” Jack couldn’t resist the urge to clap his hands. He waited with bated breath as the colour on the bacon pancakes deepened and then he watched anxiously as Ianto used tongs to pluck the two skewers from the oil and lay them on a draining rack before replacing them with two more. 

“Now?” Jack demanded. His body was aquiver with anticipation. 

Ianto slipped a skewer onto a plate, handed it to Jack and pointed to the pitcher of maple syrup, which he’d warmed in hot water. “Now!”

Jack poured a small amount of syrup over the surface of his pancake and using the stick end of his skewer, raised it to his mouth and took his first bite. His groan of pure delight bordered on the erotic and made Ianto’s pale skin blush a lovely shade of pink. 

“Oh, God, Yan! What is it about maple and bacon that is absolutely divine!” He took another bite, closing his eyes and savouring the flavours bursting on his tongue. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he looked at Ianto in horror. “Oh no!”

“What’s wrong? Did you swallow the skewer or something?” 

“No…” he croaked out. “The only reason we’ve met is because Gwen is a right pushy bi… broad…” Jack caught himself just in time. “She’s been setting me up on blind dates for years, swears she’ll find me the man of my dreams. When she finds out that we’re together because of her, I’ll never live it down!”

‘We’re together?’ Ianto joyfully pondered those words for a split second and then decided he quite liked the sound of them. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right there beside you when she does and I promise I won’t let her push you around, okay?”

Jack took the second pancake skewer, dipped it in syrup and fed Ianto a bite. “It’s a deal, Yan.” He poured more syrup and used the skewer to eat the pancake like a cob of corn, continuing to make erotic noises while Ianto watched with fond amusement.

“Oops…” Ianto reached out and used his thumb to wipe away a dribble of syrup from the corner of Jack’s mouth and as he drew his hand away Jack caught it and pulled Ianto’s thumb into his mouth, sucking off the sticky sweetness. Then he released the thumb but used the hand to draw Ianto close and plant a gentle kiss on the Welshman’s lips.


	5. Chapter 5

Everything’s Better With Bacon 

Chapter Five

If you had asked Jack Harkness three months ago where he’d be on any given Saturday night, he never, ever would have answered spending time with the most gorgeous man he’d ever met, the one with the drown-in-me blue eyes, drooling over whatever recipe containing bacon had been chosen from the Bacon Bowl the week before. Jack had used Google and Ianto Bing, and they’d each made a list of dozens of recipes – everything from breakfast muffins and quiche to lunch soups and sandwiches to dinner casseroles, mains and sides. There were even recipes for sweet puddings and candied bacon for dessert. 

After they had eliminated the recipes that duplicated themselves, Jack had printed the names off, then he and Ianto spent a pleasure-filled evening cutting the sheets of paper into slips and folding the slips into smaller pieces. Ianto donated a plastic tub roughly eight-inches squares that was normally used to prove dough before baking and they put all the bits of paper in and swirled them around, taking it in turns on a Thursday night to pick one out. Each man was responsible for gathering all the ingredients – Ianto provided the bacon most of the time simply because of the taste and quality of the meat he got from his local farmer was far superior to anything from Tesco’s but they split the cost of that – for their Saturday night bacon experiments and cook-offs.

Treating the food like the very best of fine dining, Jack and Ianto would evaluate each dish and rate it just like they’d seen Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood do on their baking show. Each man had a notebook in which they kept track of everything pertaining to each recipe from cost of ingredients to difficulty of preparation to how delicious each dish was. Jack’s favourite category was how messy the food was to eat; he gave high marks to food that oozed down his fingers or plopped onto his shirt. Ianto refused to participate in this evaluation, preferring knife and fork, with a cloth napkin tucked away in his collar while Jack enjoyed eating everything he could with his fingers, much to Ianto’s disapproval. He did find it quite amusing and erotic to watch Jack suck and lick his fingers clean, although he would never admit that to the man.

Saturday days Jack used a small table tucked in the corner of Ianto’s kitchen to write while Ianto and his staff turned out the best baked goods around, in Jack’s opinion, of course. On the Saturday nights when it was Ianto’s turn to cook, Jack would read to him from any number of murder mystery thrillers; he did a good job of making the sinister voices sound really creepy, much to Ianto’s delight. When it was Jack’s turn at the stove, Ianto would regale him with tales of his childhood, split between learning to bake with his grandmother and helping his grandfather on the small farm where they lived.

After dinner and clean-up, they often spent the evenings sitting in companionable silence, reading and writing while music played softly in the background.

One night, having finished the book he was reading, Jack stretched out his leg and poked Ianto with his stockinged foot. “So, Yan, out of everything we’ve tried, all the recipes we’ve prepared so far, what is your absolute all-time favourite bacon dish?” Jack queried as he peered over the rim of his coffee mug.

Ianto sipped his own coffee as he considered his answer. “Well, part of me wants to say the classic bacon and eggs breakfast like we had this morning and there is a lot to be said for a good, old-fashioned bacon buttie, but I have to admit I really, really liked those Rumaki-style things we made last week. Those were quite tasty and so much fun.”

Jack had found an old American cookbook from the 1950s online; it contained a number of recipes that originated with the tiki culture that had been so popular at the time. The original recipe called for water chestnuts and pieces of chicken liver to be wrapped in bacon and then marinated in soy sauce and either ginger or brown sugar but they had adapted it to include scallops, shrimps and pieces of chicken breast. Ianto had really enjoyed each bite-sized toothpick-mounted morsel.

“I told you before, Cariad, everything’s tastier on a stick,” he had chuckled at the time, “even wee little sticks like these!”

***** 

Ianto finished rinsing the last pan and handed it to Jack for drying while he wiped down the sink area. “If you were only allowed one final meal of bacon, what would it be?” 

“A BLT,” Jack answered without hesitation.

“You can take a minute to think about it, you know!”

“Don’t have to.” Jack shook his head resolutely. “Lightly toasted sourdough bread, just a smear of yellow mustard…” Using hand gestures, he built his favourite sandwich in the air. “Then great slabs of not-too-ripe tomato, lots of thick-cut Applewood smoked bacon, crispy lettuce, a bit of mayo and more bread.” He sighed with contentment. “Nature’s most perfect food.”

***** 

One evening, while Brahms’s Lullaby was playing on the stereo and gently lulling Ianto to sleep, Jack suddenly looked up from his notebook – when in writing mode, he liked the feeling of old-fashioned pen and paper – said it helped him think. “Hey, Ianto!”

“Huh…?” Ianto snorted and jerked upright, nearly falling off the sofa. “Wha… ‘s wrong?” He blinked trying to focus as he looked around the room. “Jack?”

Barely able to hide his mirth at seeing the normally oh-so-put-together Ianto Jones struggling to wake up, Jack hid his giggles behind a cough. “I’m so…” He coughed again. “Sorry, Yan, I didn’t know you were sleeping!”

“I wasn’t asleep!” Ianto shook his head in protest. “I was just resting... you know… my eyes.”

Jack nodded solemnly. “Checking your eyelids for holes… very wise!”

Despite himself, Ianto snickered. “That’s a new one on me.”

“Are you awake now?” Jack set his work aside and changed his seat from the wing chair to the small sofa, putting an arm around Ianto’s shoulders and drawing him close. “I really am sorry.”

“You should be,” Ianto sniffed. “I was having a really good dream.”

Jack was intrigued. “Was I in it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Ianto admitted. 

“Ooo! Tell me!” 

Ianto shrugged, chasing the fading memory. “We were… well…”

“Naked in a hot tub?” Jack offered helpfully.

“Ha-ha…” Ianto rolled his eyes. “No, you twpsyn, we were alien hunters…” 

“Cool!”

“And we had this underground base with a Pteranodon…”

“A what?” Jack frowned; he knew what they were, he was sure of it, but he was having a momentary brain fart.

“A Pteranodon… remember in Jurassic Park, the flying dinosaurs that kept pace with the helicopter? Like those.” 

Jack snapped his fingers. “That’s right!”

“Anyway, we had one that that lived in the rafters.”

“Was I naked?”

“What?”

“Was I naked in your dream?”

Ianto huffed out a long-suffering sigh; he’d discovered some time back that Jack liked being naked whenever possible. “No!”

“Oh,” Jack seemed to deflate a bit. “Maybe next time?”

“Next time, I promise,” Ianto nodded solemnly. “I will have naked dreams about you.”

“Really?”

“Really. I will have you cavorting from one corner of my mind to the next, and I swear you will be so naked even you will be embarrassed.” 

Jack puffed up like a cock of the walk. “As it should be, I assure you!”

Ianto twisted about enough to kiss Jack’s cheek. “As it should be. Now, why did you wake me up?”

“Erm…” Jack’s brow furrowed as he considered, most of his brain still picturing himself running about naked in Ianto’s dreams. “Oh yeah! I remember. A picnic!”

“A picnic?”

“Yeah!” Jack enthused. “Let’s take our favourite bacon yummies and have a picnic out in the countryside somewhere!”

Ianto considered the idea. He’d always enjoyed getting out of Cardiff; it had been several months since he’d had a social visit with the farmer who produced the amazing bacon he and Jack enjoyed so much. The3n he snapped his fingers, abruptly shoved Jack out of his way and started rummaging through the basket of newspapers on the bottom shelf of the low table in front of the sofa. “A-hah! Got it!” and he waved a section of paper at Jack.

“And…” Jack prompted slowly when Ianto showed no signs of sharing whatever it was he was looking for. 

Holding up one finger, Ianto quickly perused the pages, finally finding what he was seeking. “Here it is!” He used that finger to stab at a small article. “There’s a local country fete in two weeks! We could go to that!”

Jack smiled seeing how enthused Ianto was. “I’ve honestly never been to one before.”

“They are so much fun! We used to go when I was a kid, my grandparents always took part!” Ianto waved the paper again. “This says there’s a pie eating contest, two judged baking competitions – one live plus one where you enter things you’ve already made – and a box lunch auction.”

“A what?”

“It’s something they used to do back in my grandparent’s day!” Ianto jumped to his feet and turned to look at Jack. “It’s how they met, my grandparents! The eligible girls and unmarried ladies would prepare their very best lunch, submit it and then the boxes would get auctioned off to the highest bidder. Guys weren’t so much bidding on the lunch but on the person who made it.”

“Huh…” Jack was as intrigued by Ianto’s animated story telling as he was by the story itself.

“It was an easy way to spend time with the girl you liked… you just had to out outbid everyone else interested in her.”

Jack nodded with approval. “That’s pretty clever.”

“Sometimes everyone knew whose lunch was whose, but other times it was anonymous, just a row of prettily decorated boxes, but Mam-gu said that the women were known to drop hints about which lunch they’d made to the guy they wanted to win theirs.”

“Very clever…” Jack laughed, “and sneaky!”

Ianto nodded. “My grandmother used to brag that her box lunch won the highest bid that day.” Ianto smiled fondly. “She’d secretly let my grandfather know which box was hers, but there was another man in the village who was interested in her as well, and when he saw my grandfather bidding on that specific box, the man figured it out and he tried his best to out-bid him.”

“Ooo… village intrigue! Who won?” Jack teased.

“Jack…” Ianto rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Tad-gu always told me that it was the best money he’d ever spent in his life, which always made Mam-gu giggle like a teenager. They were so sweet together, you could see that they were just meant to be, ya know?”

Watching Ianto, his eyes dancing as he wove his tale of romance, Jack knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d found the man he was going to spend the rest of his life with. It was something his heart had understood within seconds of meeting Ianto Jones, but his brain hadn’t actually put the feelings into words til just that moment.

***** 

Eight months after Jack was dragged off the street and into ‘Jones the Baker’ by bridezilla Gwen, Ianto Jones, proprietor and master baker, hosted a private book unveiling in honour of his best friend and lover’s latest novel. Jack had woven a soon-to-be-best-seller set in a bakery whose owner unwittingly got involved in the smuggling of counterfeit currency. A few family members and close friends were invited and Ianto served his delicious coffee – a new blend he’d created in honour of the occasion – along with cookies decorated by Tegwyn to look like five-pound notes.

One week later, Ianto and Petra catered an invitation-only tea party and book reading at ‘The Tardis’, a boutique bookstore owned by Jack’s old friends Rose Tyler and John Smith, and Jack’s public book signing that followed the next day resulted in all his books in stock, old and new, being sold out with orders for dozens more being placed by excited readers.

***** 

Just over a year after that, Jack’s next novel was met with glowing reviews, hundreds of pre-orders and instantly sold-out shelves. In it, he’d brought back the owner of the bakery, teaming the young man with his detective character; this time rather than being a potential suspect, the young Welsh baker proved to be instrumental in solving the murder of a hated rival. Readers delighted in the romantic relationship that developed between the two men and while doing a guest spot on the Graham Norton Show – seated alongside luminaries Dame Helen Mirren and Benedict Cumberbatch, Jack had even been presented with numerous examples of fan fiction involving them written and posted on-line by devoted fans. 

Once it became known that ‘Jones the Baker’ was the setting for Jack’s mystery novels, business there exploded, with readers arriving in droves to sample Ianto’s now legendary coffee and baked goods, to take pictures of everything in sight which were then posted all over social media, and if they were really, really lucky, to catch sight of and even meet Ianto Jones himself. Ianto was forced to hire several university students on a part-time basis to man the front counter because after the first hour of dealing with all of the demanding females, Petra had flat-out refused to pass beyond the swinging doors ever again unless the front door was securely locked and the bakery empty. 

On the one hand, Ianto bemoaned the loss of privacy and anonymity – even doing the weekly shopping at Tesco’s now meant being followed around the store as he were a celebrity, being photographed and begged for selfies and autographs. “They’re even taking pictures of me buying toilet role, Cariad!” he’d sadly moaned one night. 

Jack found it so endearing that while he was out of town on publicity and book signing tours, he could go on-line any time he wanted and see the man he loved going about his daily activities. It was the only up-side they could find to having their world splashed across every form of social media available. When they’d call one another each evening, all the pictures and videos helped Jack feel that he wasn’t missing out on so much of Ianto’s life. “Found a video of you in the shop serving a gaggle of star-struck middle-aged Americans; the way you fended off the wandering hands of that bleach-bottle blonde is nothing short of miraculous, Yan!” he laughed heartedly.

“I’m telling you that woman had octopus arms! She kept trying to grab my arse and take a selfie of us!” The sheer outrage in Ianto’s voice only made Jack laugh harder. “It’s not funny, Jack!” and Jack heard his lover stomp his foot in frustration.

On the other hand, however, the financial success the bakery enjoyed enabled ‘Jones the Baker’ to make a long-held dream a reality. With only minimal assistance from the bank, Ianto was able to purchase the other half of his building, which included the small shop next door – vacant for nearly a year – and the first floor flat above. 

With the help of John Smith – a closet architect quite skilled at making any small space seem so much bigger on the inside – Ianto restructured the two small flats into one much more spacious, designed with the needs of both men in mind. 

The master bedroom was enlarged to accommodate a decadent king-size bed; Jack tended to starfish in the early hours of the morning and had managed to not only push Ianto out of the old double-bed on one occasion but had twice thumped the Welshman rather painfully in the chest. Even better than the new bed was the luxurious ensuite that Jack liked to refer to as their private spa. It included a jacuzzi tub with extra jets, his-and-his sinks, a large walk-in closet and a shower stall with multiple shower heads that hit them from all angles; Jack’s favourite was the specially designed larger-than-a-dinner-plate-sized head that poured water straight down on them from the ceiling.

They liked to stand beneath that cascade, holding one another in comfortable silence, completely cut off from the rest of the world, just the two of them. Sometimes Jack would hum softly, he liked old Glen Miller tunes, his favourite being ‘In the Mood’ and they would sway slowly to the music.

The two smaller bedrooms were combined into one, with each man taking an end for office space; Ianto was able to move out of the tiny corner of the bakery kitchen he used for his bookkeeping and other paperwork and use a real desk, where he could leave his laptop open all the time and his papers in neatly organised stacks, while Jack had a large whiteboard he used to plot out his writing mounted on the wall next to his desk. It was covered with a rainbow of Post-It notes and lots of scribbled comments done in various colours of marker pens. There were even long loopy lines connecting a myriad of things to one another.

Jack swore that “…if you look at it from just the right angle, Yan, my entire next novel is laid out right there in black and white,” (to which Ianto cocked an expressive eyebrow) “which means that you are the first person to read it!” 

But try as he might to decipher it, to Ianto’s eyes “…Jack, I swear I’m trying but it just looks like a naughty child has been let loose to write on the walls!”

Jack had scooped Ianto up into a tight hug and a breath-stealing kiss. “Maybe you need to take me in hand then?” With a grin, Ianto had grabbed Jack’s hand and dragged him off into their lovely new bedroom.

The larger living room meant they could increase the number of bookshelves, a much needed improvement as their library had nearly tripled in size once Jack had moved in. They now had matching armchairs on either side of the window, each with its own reading lamp behind and small table next to it. Ianto’s modest stereo had been replaced by Jack’s state-of-the art system with speakers strategically placed throughout the flat to allow the music to envelope them while they worked and read. 

The modern open floor plan John Smith designed meant that the living room was open to the kitchen… the big, beautiful, bespoke kitchen with custom cupboards and a walk-in pantry, and a large centre island which gave Ianto more than enough room to experiment with ingredients and develop recipes of his own. “Oh, Jack… Mam-gu would be so contented working in a kitchen like this,” he sighed as he looked around. 

Next to the double sink his coffee maker had its own small counter, where a half-dozen tightly sealed canisters held bags of beans waiting to be blended and ground. A skylight above the centre island lent natural light to the work surface. A state-of-the-art stove and oven made cooking a pleasure and he’d even found an old Aga at a farm auction and it now held pride of place, just like in his grandmother’s kitchen so long ago. All-in-all, the room was just as Ianto had pictured it in his imagination and it made him very happy, especially when he was sharing it with the love of his life, Jack Harkness.


	6. Chapter Six

Everything’s Better With Bacon 

Chapter Six

Downstairs, on the ground floor, the empty storefront was reimagined as a full-service tearoom in the front with a second kitchen in the back. After making a short pen-to-paper pros-and-cons list and then having a serious discussion with Petra and Tegwyn, it was an easy decision to have two kitchens, the original one just for the bakery and the second dedicated to preparing the foods on the tearoom menu. 

Drawing on his childhood memories of time spent with his grandmother, Ianto created a lovely space in which to relax and enjoy a quite hour or two. During the week, the tearoom was open for lunch with soups, sandwiches and wraps as well as informal tea with small cakes, biscuits or pastries in the afternoon. On the weekends however, ‘Nana’s Tea Room’ served a proper British tea complete with a selection of teas and a tiered cake stand containing sweet and savoury titbits. It was the recipes for these items that Ianto worked on in his new home kitchen upstairs while Jack worked on his latest novel nearby, always close enough to suffer through any and all tastings that were required and even a few that were strictly voluntary.

“My grandmother’s most secret dream once she’d raised her children was to have a little tearoom where she could emulate the teas served in the fancy hotels in London.” Ianto nudged the plate with scones fresh from the oven over to Jack and then pushed the pots of clotted cream and homemade strawberry jam closer to him. “I don’t know if she ever shared that with my grandfather.” 

“How do you know that?” Jack lavishly slathered cream on his scone, scooped jam on top of that, and then lewdly sucked his fingers clean before stuffing most of one scone half into his mouth in one go. 

“Huh…?” It took Ianto a moment to recover from watching hungrily as Jack licked his fingers clean again. “Erm… I was eight or so, helping her make scones and quick breads to take to a church bake sale and she told me about it, what it would look like and what she would serve. I loved spending that time with her; it was just the two of us for hours on end, making the whole house smell so delicious and the kitchen was always warm and comfy, especially on cold winter days. Rhiannon was too busy being a bratty teenager to want to be around her family much, so it was always just me and mam-gu. In the spring and summer we would have little tea parties out in the back garden; she always made it so special.”

An image of little Ianto at his grandmother’s side, standing on a chair to reach the counter, wearing one of her pretty but useful aprons sprang to Jack’s mind and a tender smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “What wonderful memories to have,” he said softly.

“Yeah, I loved her more than anyone in the world,” Ianto confided wistfully. “I wish she were still here to see what I’ve done with everything she taught me, to know how much she inspired me to be the man I am today.”

“She knows, Yan,” Jack pulled his Welshman in and tenderly kissed his temple. “They always know.”

“Anyway…” Ianto luxuriated in the hug for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Mam-gu loved the Royal Family, she followed everything they did, which wasn’t that easy cos back then the press respected the Queen’s privacy so it was pretty much only official engagements and things, but still…” He paused and drank his tea and then freshened his cup, topping off Jack’s at the same time.

“She always served her scones the way Queen Elizabeth and the Royal Family enjoyed theirs, using the traditional Cornish method where the jam is spread first and then a spoonful of clotted cream was added. Once, she told me, they had relatives from Australia come to visit and it turned out that they used the Devonshire method which covers each half with clotted cream and then jam, the way you do it.”

“How weird!” Jack looked at the scone half still on his plate and then over at Ianto’s scone. “I never noticed we do it opposites.” He grabbed a second scone, split it and copied Ianto’s method, then took a huge bite. “Tasss ust me…” he mumbled, a few crumbs flying out to land on the table. Seeing Ianto’s look of disapproval, he swallowed quickly. “Tastes the same either way.”

Ianto snorted with amusement. “Yeah, I suppose it would.”

***** 

Once a month on a Saturday, Nana’s presented a children’s afternoon tea, usually themed to match the book Rose would read aloud. In December, when the dining room was richly decorated for the holidays, John Smith would make an appearance as Father Christmas to read Clement Clarke Moore’s beloved classic ‘The Night Before Christmas’ to a rapt audience seated on the floor in front of a beautifully decorated tree. Rose would dress up like Mrs Claus and help corral overly excited children. The demand for that tea party was so great that it was scheduled twice each day for two consecutive Saturdays and given the wait list, Ianto was considering doing it on all four Saturdays in December.

***** 

As one of the most sought after and hardest to get reservations in the city of Cardiff, Valentine’s Day evening at Nana’s was one of the most special events the tearoom offered; it was the only time the tearoom stayed open after 5 pm. 

The evening was guaranteed to spark romantic thoughts in even the most cynical of hearts. Soft music played and tables and chairs were moved aside just enough to provide a small dance floor. There were candles and flowers on every table and a complimentary glass of champagne was available to any guest who wanted to toast the evening. The tiered-trays held heart-shaped pastries and scones amongst other yummy titbits. In honour of Ianto’s grandmother, each woman who entered was given a long-stemmed red rose. 

Jack had thought that a bit sexist. “Why don’t the guys get something like that?” 

“Well, first of all, it’s a bit of tradition, red roses mean love in the language of flowers, and traditionally, it’s the woman who receives the rose.” Ianto had patiently explained even as he piped delicate swirls of buttercream icing onto tiny cakes. 

“Well, there is that, I suppose.”

“And,” Ianto slid a tray of decorated cakes onto a rack and pulled out one that needed icing. “Every chance he got, my grandfather gave my grandmother a single red rose.”

“Is there something we can give the guys when they come in, is there a flower for them?” Jack was already pulling out his mobile to Google it. “Hey, how about this?” He looked up just in time to see Ianto disappear into the cooler and thinking fast, he took advantage of being alone with an unattended bowl full of chocolate buttercream frosting. Grabbing a nearby spatula, Jack scooped out a large blob and shoved it in his mouth just in time for Ianto to hear him moaning erotically as he returned to his work station.

“Jaaaack…”

“Hmmmm…?” Jack’s eyes were still closed as he continued to savour his illicit treat, sticking his tongue out to lick up more butter and sugar.

“Would you and my favourite spatula like to get a room?”

“Oooo!” Jack’s eyes flew open and he quickly hid his hand behind his back, looking like a guilty little schoolboy caught with being naughty. 

Ianto held out his hand, waiting patiently for Jack to give him the spatula, which he then put in the sink to be washed. “Thank you. Now, I thought I heard you saying something just as I went into the cooler?”

“Yeah…” Jack held up a finger, opened a bottle of water and then drained half of it before continuing. “I looked up that flower language and…” his eyes twinkled devilishly. “We could give the guys each a stalk of Bells of Ireland.”

“And we would do that because?” Ianto knew Jack was up to something, he could see the man was fairly quivering with barely contained mischief.

“Cos Bells of Ireland mean good luck!!” Jack burst into laughter. 

***** 

Eighteen months after Nana’s Tearoom opened and just weeks before the premiere of a television series based on Jack’s novels, Tegwyn finished decorating Jack and Ianto’s wedding cake. She’d created a swath of ivy (for wedded love) and myrtle sprigs (an emblem of marriage) nestled with little books and coffee mugs that swept from the bottom up around the three layers of scrumptious cake – one a traditional Victoria sponge, one a rich carrot and the last a light lemon and poppy seed, all covered in rich buttercream frosting – to the top. There she placed the cake topper she had designed, a book with a printed rice paper cover of Jack’s first bakery series novel next to a large coffee mug with a red Welsh dragon painted on its side and slices of crispy brown bacon poking out of it.

On a lovely Cardiff day, before a small group of family and close friends, Ianto Jones and Jack Harkness met in front of an ivy-covered arch in Bute Park, reaching out and taking one another’s hands as they turned to face the officiant, whereupon Ianto had to do a double-take. 

“Jack…” he spoke softly, “what are you wearing?”

The man in question preened with delight. “You like it?”

Ianto’s eyes narrowed slightly. He’d worked hard to make sure their wedding outfits were perfect; bespoke suits that came from the same tailoring house that had made suits for the men in the Jones family for nearly one hundred years, ties made from silk that had been hand-dyed to match the individual blue of their eyes, while their tie pins were coincidentally both family heirlooms, both symbolic of their individual heritages, his a sterling silver Welsh dragon and Jack’s a golden Scottish thistle.

“Where on earth did you get that… that…” Words completely failed the Welshman at that moment. He flapped his hand at the strip of fabric hanging around Jack’s neck, one that was most definitely not blue, not in any way, shape or form.

Jack beamed. “Owen gave it to me! Said it was the perfect thing to accessorise my outfit!”

“Oh goody!” Ianto nodded as if this were precisely the answer he was expecting to hear. “Of course, why not? Thank you, Doctor Harper!”

“Don’t you like it, Yan?” The worry in Jack’s voice cut through Ianto’s ire at Owen’s shenanigans. “I have the other one in my pocket… I rolled it up just the way you taught me so it wouldn’t wrinkle and I can change it right now if you want.”

“No, it’s all right, Cariad. Of course I like it.” Touched by the sincerity in Jack’s voice the Welshman hurried to reassure him, anxious to banish the frown lines from his beloved’s forehead. He took a moment to study the novelty necktie, gazing upon the enormous strip of crispy-looking silk bacon that decorated Jack’s front. “I guess when I think about it we would be hard-pressed to find a more appropriate symbol for our relationship, given that it was bacon that pretty much brought us together.”

Jack actually wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as surreptitiously as he could. ‘There are so many ways that could have gone wrong!’ He looked over at Owen as the man nudged him in the ribs.

Standing next to Jack as his best man, Owen Harper winked as he mouthed these words, ‘Told ya!’

End


End file.
